The Man in Red
by GirlWhoLovesFanfiction
Summary: "Tell me, Sherlock Holmes. Have you ever met a real monster before?" Set in the middle of Season Two, the residents of 221B Baker Street must uncover a deep, dark secret hidden away under the British government. When an underground organization calls on Sherlock for help, is the genius detective in over his head?
1. Chapter 1

**Well! After a long, long,** ** _long_** **hiatus I have finally returned from the dead. Pun intended. I decided this time to make a new crossover, this time with a show that's recently captured quite a bit of my interest. This is my first time writing for the Sherlock fandom, so please be gentle with the reviews. I'm trying my best to make sure the characters are true to canon, but I'm probably going to flounder a bit in that I don't have the best experience. Ah well. Practice makes perfect, eh? Hope you guys enjoy. Tell me what you think!**

The sun rose, large and luminous, over the manor that morning. Golden light streamed through a massive window and onto a mahogany desk where shadow of a great chair, scratched and worn through many years of labor, fell upon a steaming cup of Ceylon tea. A head of long, platinum hair leaned over the morning's busywork. Nothing pressing. No new missions. How unfortunately peaceful.

The morning was too quiet.

The telephone rang. Long, tan fingers plucked the device from its mount quickly, almost as if they had anticipated such a call. In that household, peace never lasted long.

"Hello?" a woman asked. "Yes, this is she." A pause. "Indeed? Two of them, you say? And you're certain this is no coincidence?" Tan lips smirked around the cigar resting between straight white teeth. "I am not given to believing in them either, Holmes. Very well. I shall depart shortly."

After hanging up the phone, a pool of darkness that had once only lingered quietly in the corner of the room flickered. "A mission, my master?" a new voice asked.

Icy blues fixed on the spot. "One that will require your critical eye, my servant. Come out where I can see you."

A man, who in fact was not a man at all, slowly drew himself out of the shadows and gave her a sharp-toothed grin. His long black hair failed to obscure the excitement in his unholy eyes. Dutifully, plucked her coat off a nearby rack and held it out for her, which she slipped into. "Are we going on a field trip, Integra?"

Integra Hellsing paused by the door. "Something like that."

*.*.*

10 HOURS EARLIER

Sherlock snapped the plastic glove off his hand and tossed it casually away with a blank expression. He stared down at the dead body on the slab for a solid five seconds before he turned to John with an angry scowl. "It's not _possible_ ," he groused.

"Care to fill the rest of us in?" John asked calmly, folding his hands together.

"Exsanguination of this magnitude would require a larger gash for such a short period. _Somewhere_ on her body. Somewhere bigger than the mark on her neck. But there's nothing. Bodies don't just _spew_ blood from wounds so small!"

"The blood was drawn, then. There are plenty of machines that do that."

"There was no incision larger than the bite. Don't you see? There's nothing! It's. Not. _Possible_."

Molly Hooper brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear as she bent over the body, examining the mark. "Do you suppose the killer could have… _sucked_ the blood out?"

"Unless they happen to be a living vacuum, no," Sherlock replied.

"So, what do we do?"

"We work with what we know. Her nails are trimmed and clean, with various faded markings about her hands; burns, cuts. A kitchen worker, a chef. But you'll notice the thick callous on her right middle finger, where you'd place a pen or pencil. Coupled with the dark rims under her eyes, you can speculate she wrote in her spare time, no doubt she had very little of it. A plain wedding band, worn on her right hand; further proof she works with food. But the right hand? Is she an adulterer? No; the ring is somewhat scratched, but well-tended and rarely removed, despite its obvious age. Is the spouse dead? No. There's a picture on her phone of her kissing a man her age on the lips. Happy wife. She's right handed, going by the callous on her middle finger, which means her ring is on the hand most likely to receive the most wear, so she didn't move it just for comfort. Heirloom? No. It's old, but not that old. She's been married about fifteen years; the ring looks about that age. Therefore, it's her culture. Bulgaria, Spain, India, Columbia, Venezuela, Austria, Norway, Germany, Poland, Greece, and Russia all include cultures where wedding rings worn on the right hand. Now to narrow down which one. Her nose is straight from base to tip, though with a slight bump on the bridge. Large eyes, thick lashes, brown eyes and hair, olive skin tone. Her clothing also gives it away; she's wearing a modernized one shoulder gown, native to Greece. Greek Eastern Orthodox Christian, then. So, riddle me this: why was her body found inside a _Catholic_ church?"

Sherlock whirled around and pointed a finger at the mortician. "Molly!" The woman jumped. "What do you suppose this is?"

"W-Well, ah… if her body was found in another church, maybe the killer is trying to send a message? Maybe this is a hate crime?"

"Excellent." Molly brightened at the compliment. Her smile quickly vanished with what followed the comment, however. "I mean, you're completely wrong, but it is a good theory. She was found roughly two hours after Sunday mass, inside of a janitor's closet. If the killer wanted to make this an obviously prejudiced murder, she would have been placed somewhere more public."

"So why was she in the church?" John asked. "Was she with friends?"

" _That_ seems the most likely cause. We find whoever went to church with her to discover her missing, we find out more about the case…" he trailed off and glanced down once more to the incision on her neck.

After a long period of silence, John shook his friend by the shoulder. "Sherlock? Sherlock, you okay?"

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, though John could see his eyes dancing wildly back and forth beneath his lids.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

 _A picture. A man, mid-thirties, led through the crowd. The newspaper captures his cold, sadistic sneer. In his smile, there are fangs. The case report shows a woman with glassy green eyes lying dead in her kitchen. There is no blood. No other wounds, save for the bite around her throat and the bullet through her brain._

 _"_ _Mycroft?" Sherlock asked. His voice is barely above a whisper. His older brother's head snapped to him and he quickly shut his laptop. But the picture had already been seen._

 _"_ _What is it, Sherlock? I happen to be very busy."_

 _"_ _Are vampires real?"_

Sherlock snapped out of whatever came over him. "What?" he asked, looking around the room. Both Molly and John were watching him carefully, and the worry in the room was palpable. He shook off the memory, then took a deep breath. "Quit gaping, you two. I'm fine. Just… remembering something, is all."

*.*.*

He hated waking up in the daytime. The sun was a nuisance, though it didn't hurt like it used to a century ago. It was still morning, and the sunlight pouring through the open window to his left caused him to squint irritably.

A policewoman placed a steaming mug of black coffee in front of him. "Not a morning person, I take it?"

He did not reach for it. He wasn't a coffee person when he was alive, anyways. It tasted like bitter bean water. He never understood why humans liked it. Or tea, for that matter. Although, he _does_ like the aroma, especially on his master. "Not at all," he replied, eyeing her carefully. The tag on her suit read _Sgt. Donovan_.

"You're with that woman, aren't you? The tall blonde?" He tilted his head, suddenly interested in what she had to say. "I don't believe I've heard of the Hellsing organization before. What makes you privy to our information?"

He smirked. Donovan blinked. Was it just her imagination, or were his teeth a little too sharp to be considered normal? "As your Inspector put it best, this case isn't your division."

"He says that a lot. So why is it yours?"

"Hellsing handles many cases like the one your department is so underqualified to handle."

Rage sparked in her serious brown eyes. Just before she voiced an angry retort, the door to a nearby office opened. First, out stepped the tall blonde that Donovan mentioned. Following her came Lestrade, eyes wide but not disbelieving. He had to give the man credit for that: he took to the news rather well. Normally his master spent much longer having that particular chat. "Get at least ten people down to the morgue," he barked, ushering Donovan to a stand. The urgency in his tone took her by surprise.

"That won't be necessary," the woman said. "I've already sent my men out to deal with the problem. Luckily, it's just the one."

"Just the one, what?" Donovan pressed.

The woman smiled, but ignored the question. Instead, she turned to Lestrade. "And you said that this man, this Sherlock Holmes; you think he'll be of any use?"

Lestrade nodded. "Oh, yeah. He'll love this. Give him five minutes, Integra, and you'll walk away with more information than what you'd get with a team working for five hours. The only problem is, you have to try really hard not to punch him in the face."

Integra chuckled dryly. "Don't worry. I have experience with that sort." He didn't miss the glance his master sent his way. He smirked, though it was unfortunately closed-lipped. She was very adamant about being careful about smiling. "Time to leave."

Her servant rose from his chair as Donovan veritably fumed. "You're already putting Freak on this?" she accused as soon as the odd pair vanished behind a closed door.

Lestrade shrugged and opened his fingers, a sure signal that this was officially "out of his hands". "I'm not. She asked, and I gave her a reference. This is all on the Hellsing Organization now."

*.*.*

John opened the door to their apartment refrigerator, took one look at the eyeballs floating in what looked like a glass of water, and promptly shut it again. "Can you stop storing human parts where we keep our food? Yesterday I almost made a ham sandwich until I realized that it wasn't ham."

"I'm doing an experiment," Sherlock replied. He was spread out on the couch with his hands pressed together, as he was wont when contemplating something important.

"Yes, yes; I _know_ you're doing an experiment. I just think you should do it, I don't know, _elsewhere_."

Instead of a reply, he was answered by the sound of buzzing. Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and both men looked towards the door before looking back at one another. "Were we expecting anybody?" Sherlock asked.

"I could ask you the same thing."

Sherlock's eyes lit up with intrigue. "Oh, now _this_ is interesting. A client at ten o'clock in the evening, how utterly fascinating!"

"And bloody irritating," John muttered as Sherlock practically flew off the couch. "I was hoping to see a girl tonight."

"Oh, you can see a girl any night. Now this, _this_ doesn't happen every day."

"Doesn't it?"

*.*.*

Mrs. Hudson ushered a tall stranger through the door (Although _tall_ would be a large understatement. His hat nearly brushed the top of the doorframe). "Oh, come in, come in! It's a bit nippy out there, isn't it, dear?"

Beneath the cover of his coat, the man smiled fondly. She reminded him of someone. "It is indeed. Though I'm perfectly fine; thank you for your concern."

She waved a hand. "Of course. With this cold front coming in, it's such a danger to be out on the streets. Hmph! I tell the boys, "Don't you go running amok when it gets too cold, or you'll get ill". And Sherlock, oh, the boy just never listens to me! It's no wonder I'm so wrinkled with all the worrying he has me doing!"

The man arched an eyebrow. "Indeed? Surely such a thing is inconsequential."

"All the dangerous cases he does takes years off my complexion, I tell you!"

"I think you look beautiful," he replied. "You shouldn't disparage that which marks the passage of life."

Mrs. Hudson wondered for a moment whether there was a joke somewhere in the compliment, but realized that he was sincere. She blushed and touched the lines on her cheeks. "Really? Oh, thank you, dear. How very kind of you. Such a nice young lad. Would you like a nice cupper to bring up with you? I think the boys may be out."

The man shook his head. "No, thank you. I'll be on my way. I've important business to discuss with Mr. Holmes, after all."

"Alright, they're right up the stairs."

He tipped his hat to her and moved towards the steps. Mrs. Hudson froze when, just out of the corner of her eye, she saw a drop of red behind his glasses. As he passed her, she clasped her hands together to fight off the sudden chill in the room. How strange, she thought; it seemed colder inside after speaking with the stranger than it did when the open door allowed the winter air in.

*.*.*

The man standing behind the apartment door was the most fascinating person that Sherlock had the pleasure of deducing. Mostly because of how much of him was covered up. That clued him in that this person, this tall, strange man, was definitely going to present him an interesting case. "Mr. Holmes, is it?" he asked, orange glasses flashing in the florescent light of the apartment.

"Mm," Sherlock grunted in disinterest. "Who's asking?"

The man tilted his head, drawing Sherlock's eye to the ridiculous hat resting there. "Weren't you informed? Lestrade told us that you were the man to go to. You viewed our case this morning."

 _That_ case. Ah. "And who is 'us'?"

"Later," the man says, lips twisting upwards in a grin. Even with the large hat, upturned collar, and orange glasses, the smile in his voice is unmistakable. "First, I want to see for myself if that brain of yours truly is something half as remarkable as your policeman friend seems to think. So go on, detective. Why don't you impress me, first?"

The challenge was equally unmistakable. And everyone who knew Sherlock Holmes knew he did not back down from a challenge. So, he straightened his spine, looked the stranger in the eye, and began his evaluation. "Going by the obvious measures you're taking to conceal your face, normally I would say that you would prefer to remain camouflaged, likely because your identity is one easily recognizable. However, the flamboyant and frankly appalling shade of red and the uncommon fashion of your glasses suggests that you _want_ to be seen. Maybe you think your face will make me or others uneasy. But I don't think you care about that. You mentioned 'us' and 'our'. So, I can only assume your boss told you to do it."

"Boss?" he questioned, both eyebrows raised.

"Clearly. You're something like a hitman, going by the gunpowder residue on your coat and the bloodstains the red is meant to conceal. And you work for someone higher up, too, someone noteworthy. I would say you worked for a criminal organization, but you mentioned Lestrade. And though I believe that the police are incompetent, I don't believe they are quite at _that_ degree, though I've been taken by surprise once or twice. Normally you would enter an apartment unannounced, but you were asked to behave. Oh, and you wore that coat in particular just to test me."

"How do you know?"

"It's old- manufactured in the later 1800s, likely. But it's in mint condition, meaning that it's either been at the back of your closet for over a hundred years- which is _highly_ unlikely, or you just bought it."

Long ago, when Sherlock first met John Watson and deduced him, he was complimented.

" _That's not what people normally say."_

 _"_ _What do people normally say?"_

 _"_ _Piss off."_

Instead, in this instance, his reply was insidious laughter. "Oh, that's _good_. Real _good_. You would be completely right, in different circumstances."

"Am I wrong?" Sherlock demanded. The laughter was beginning to grate on his nerves.

"On a few points. But for the most part, well done! Integra thought you wouldn't be worth our time, but I think if given the proper information, you'll be _very_ useful."

Before he stepped inside, Sherlock blocked his path. He glared up at the newcomer, eyes sharp and piercing. "Where was I wrong?"

The stranger quietened, though the smirk was still evident in his voice. "You don't have all the facts. Which is completely understandable. Not many do. You'd have to be crazy or very, very unlucky to have gotten everything right." And with that, he swept past Sherlock and entered the apartment, only to notice that there was another man standing inside. He paused.

"Don't mind me. The name's John Watson, I'm-"

"-his roommate and partner. Yes, I was told you would be here too."

John cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably under the tall man's scrutiny. "Then who are you?"

As Sherlock began to walk around the stranger, he once again set his eyes on the odd markings on the back of his white gloves. He hadn't mentioned them in his deduction, because those were the only bits of information he couldn't quite decipher. The stranger took off his glasses.

John was the first to react. He stood there, frozen in shock, at the bright red eyes looking right at him. "Sh-Sherlock…" he murmured, stepping back.

"Contacts," Sherlock said, completely unruffled.

The stranger chuckled and unbuttoned his coat. "And next you're going to say that my fangs are fake, hmm? A little trick anyone willing to pay enough money could do."

Before Sherlock could ask, the coat was removed and the man smiled, revealing incredibly sharp teeth. There was a pause before he replied, "Naturally."

The man tossed his coat onto the nearby rack and his large, floppy hat soon followed suit. He was left in a formal black suit and red cravat. Sherlock wondered just what it was that struck him the most about this stranger; his height, his pallor, the sharpness of his smile, or the deep, dangerous red of his irises. "Or surgery. Or a mutation…" Sherlock murmured. John sent him a worried glance. He detected uncertainty in his friend's voice.

"Really?" the man purred.

A cold wind swept through the room as the lights flickered and dimmed. The pale stranger's face was concealed in shadow, save for his ominous eyes, which seemed to burn just a little brighter. "Tell me, _Sherlock Holmes_ …" The shadows in the room seemed to dance around his figure. Hundreds of red eyes opened within them and around his person, which seemed to have become incorporeal within the blackness. "Have you ever seen a real monster before?"

*.*.*

 _"_ _No, of course vampires aren't real," Mycroft said. "They're a childish fantasy. Perhaps I underestimated you. I thought you were above believing in fairy tales."_

 _All around him, Sherlock read one word._

 _Liar._


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm actually really thrilled with how this chapter came out. I'm having a lot of fun with this story and I hope it shows. Next chapter, we introduce Seras and Integra to our two favorite detectives, and maybe hint about how this plot is going to develop. Tell me what you think!**

Chapter 2

Once the room had settled, there was an awkward silence so palpable one could almost cut it with a knife. The vampire- no longer under the guise of a man- sat in the client chair, comfortably lounging while both detectives stared at him. While Sherlock's hands were pressed together before his chin as he contemplated, John's face was one of absolute shock and horror. He looked much like he did with the Elephant in the Room case- as if you could blow on him and he would topple over. It ceaselessly amused the vampire, whose legs were now crossed in a regal manner as he patiently waited for the men digest the new information.

"Dracula," Sherlock finally said, breaking from his reverie.

The vampire raised an eyebrow. "That quick?"

"Alucard rearranged. Even John would have gotten that eventually."

John blinked (ignoring the jibe), and somehow his eyes grew even wider. "So you're-?"

"Alucard. It's not my name anymore."

"A slave," Sherlock murmured quietly. When crimson eyes fixed on him, he gestured to his gloves. "The runes, on your hands. They're what binds you, isn't it? That's why you listen to someone's orders. They're seals."

Alucard nodded and raised one hand, the backside facing them. Right before their eyes, the black seal became red as it began to glow.

"Who, then?" asked John. "I remember there was Harker, Morris, Renfield, ah…" he trailed off under the vampire's blank stare. The doctor cleared his throat nervously. "Well, it's not like I studied the book. I read it once in my twenties. Was it all of them?"

"No. It was Abraham Van Helsing. He was the only one with the knowledge to defeat me."

"So why didn't he kill you?" asked Sherlock.

Alucard smirked. "Let's focus on the more pressing issues, shall we? You can deduce me more in your leisure time. But first, let's talk about your newest case."

"The living vacuum," John joked, a dry smile twisting his lips. "Those were your words, weren't they, Sherlock?"

Sherlock did not respond. Instead, the detective stared at their latest "client". Well, _squinted_ seemed a better fit, in John's opinion. Alucard watched him, completely unruffled, as he thought. If this vampire was who he said he was, it seemed this was the sort of personality John would have expected... If perhaps a bit less refined. It seemed that he was blunter and (dare he even _think_ it) more facetious than John would have thought the Transylvanian nobleman would behave. All the books and movies, disregarding the comedies, showed such a creature.

It seemed that his friend's thoughts were on another subject entirely.

"Take off your shirt."

*.*.*

"Oh, glorious, Sir Hellsing. Truly magnificent. You've decided to let my brother in on this."

Integra leaned back in her chair and folded her hands above her legs, which were crossed regally. She looked a stunning sight in his stuffy office, the warm color of her skin and hair blending in pleasantly among the wooden bookshelves and golden wall paint. "And why not? The recommendation I heard for him was quite ardent."

The look of disgust on his face amused her to no end. "While I'm sure to the common ignoramus, my brother would seem perfect for the job, but I'd rather him leave the supernatural threats to national security to _me_." At her reproachful look, he hastened to add: "And to the people who occupy the respective positions to handle them."

"You seem to forget, Mister Holmes," Integra said, the light glinting ominously off her glasses, "so I suppose I must remind you again. While I respect that you may have a finger in many pies, the Hellsing Organization adheres only to orders from the Royal Crown and the persuasion of the Round Table. Insinuating that I am an ignoramus is tantamount to insulting my life's work. And I assure you: if I were an idiot, this country would have been reduced to nothing but rubble long ago."

Mycroft's cold eyes moved over her posture. He had only met her once, when he was . How could he forget? The memory was seared into his brain. This was no ordinary woman. No, Sir Hellsing was prideful, perhaps as prideful as he was. She was calm, but her erect back, stiff shoulders, and sharp gaze betrayed her readiness. This was a woman who had fought for every inch of ground she had gained. Her home, her trade, and her title was built on the blood of her enemies.

"I don't make a habit of revealing dangerous secrets to the common citizen, Sir Hellsing. Regardless of whatever ties I may have with them. When your officers fail to remain discreet, it is _my_ job to cover your tracks. We can't have the public knowing that there are vile creatures roaming the night."

She made a small sigh of amusement. Smoke curled out of her nostrils. "Oh, vile creatures are common knowledge already. Vampires are simply the ones that are best left in myths." Integra snuffed out her cigar in his ashtray. "My servant has it within his power to ensure that, should your brother choose not to take up the case or if it should endanger his life, he will forget." She smiled sardonically. "He's also well protected. Alucard is a loyal servant."

Mycroft snorted. She was mocking him. "Yes, I'm certain you must believe your pet vampire is _quite_ trustworthy. Forgive me if I am not so credulous."

Integra's phone made a quiet _ding!_ in her pocket. The director shot Mycroft an amused glance as she brought it out of her coat and glanced at the most recent alert. Her expression took on a more serious note, and she glanced back up at her vexed host. "I would love to stay and chat, but I've received some important information I must see to at once. Perhaps next time we visit, you may come to my manor?"

"As if I would ever step foot in that baleful place," Mycroft sniffed.

*.*.*

The vampire's dark eyebrows darted up his forehead. " _What_?"

"You're hiding the eyes in your vest. A trick of the light, perhaps. This was all premeditated. The lights dimmed, no doubt due to some sort of remote control. The eyes are stitched into the fabric, or underneath them, like those annoying glowing Christmas shirts. The shadows… discolored mist."

Alucard, for lack of a harsher word, cackled. The sound of it made both men jump. "HAH! You still don't believe! You see with your own eyes, and you don't believe!" His smile was wide enough to show off every single one of his impressive canines. "Shall I strip to my undergarments too? Oh, but maybe you'll find a remote in those as well! Hahaha!"

Sherlock grit his teeth and glared. "I don't know who you really are or what you're trying to pull, but vampires simply are not real!"

"Well, well, well! This is most certainly not the open-minded detective I was told about. And here I thought you wouldn't deny the truth when it's staring you right in the face." Alucard stood from his seat, and for one horrifying moment, John thought that he was about to attack. That was until the vampire deftly unbuttoned his vest and shrugged it off. It was then promptly thrown at Sherlock's face.

John rose from the couch to stand defensively in front of his friend. "Now listen, Mister, ah, _Alucard_. You must understand that what you've told us is just too far-fetched. While both of us remain incredibly, _astoundingly_ , even _ridiculously_ open-minded-"

"We get it John," Sherlock sighed. He didn't bother looking up from inspecting the vest.

"Shut up," John growled, whirling around and pointing a warning finger at Sherlock. He returned his gaze to the vampire, who was waiting ever so patiently for him to continue. "…Vampires just don't seem plausible."

"I'm not concerned about what you think is plausible," Alucard responded, the humor vanishing from his poisonous eyes. "You're wasting my time if you don't start making yourselves useful very soon. The longer I wait for you to get past the ridiculous idea that you understand even a fraction of the world around you, the longer it will take before the real fun begins." He locked his gaze with John for a moment, then seemed to realize something. A peculiar expression came over his face as he looked the man up and down. "Where do you keep your gun?"

John blinked. Behind him, Sherlock's head jerked up in surprise. "My… what?"

"Your gun," Alucard replied, nonplussed. "You're a soldier. You keep a gun. Where is it?"

"How… did you know I was a soldier?"

The vampire waved a hand in dismissal. "What, you think I don't know a soldier when I see one? I've fought in wars before your grandfather was a twinkle in your great-grandfather's eyes. I know what Hell looks like, and _you_ , John Watson, carry it in you."

For the umpteenth time that night, John had no idea what to say. He spared a glance at his friend, who remained silent. He knew that look, though. That was a look that said he had miscalculated something. After taking a moment to make sure that none of this was some sort of gag, John decided to answer. "It's in my desk drawer."

Alucard clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Get it out and shoot me."

"No!" John exclaimed.

A flash of irritation overcame his expression. "Come on, I'm giving you a freebie. Do you have any idea how many people would have jumped at the opportunity?"

"I don't care, I'm not shooting you!"

"Detective," Alucard said, turning to Sherlock. "You want to unravel this mystery. You do it."

It looked, for a brief, stumbling moment, as if Sherlock was actually contemplating it. "No!" John growled at his friend. "You are not going to shoot him, I am not going to shoot him, and _you_ ," he said, turning to stab a finger into Alucard's chest, "are not going to shoot yourself."

"Certainly not," Alucard replied calmly. "Silver bullets, though it takes more than that to defeat me, do actually hurt."

"I don't see any suggestion of a gun on your person," Sherlock interjected skeptically.

Alucard grinned wickedly. "A vampire quirk."

"This is insane. Sit down, Mr. Alucard, and we'll try to talk this out like civilized adults."

He cackled at that. "He thinks I'm civilized. How adorable."

"And what would shooting you prove?" Sherlock asked, rising from his seat. "You mentioned silver. Are we to assume that silver is a weakness to vampires?"

"Assume for now," he replied. "Know, later."

"Then a regular bullet would not cause you any harm."

"I never said that. Bullets sting, no matter what they're made of. But _silver_ causes real damage. You shoot me with a normal bullet, and I regenerate in seconds. You shoot me with silver, it takes longer. And it hurts like hell."

Sherlock paused for a moment. Then, to John's utter horror, he went to the desk, pulled out the top drawer, and picked up the gun. Alucard's grin was wide and feral. "Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

"I'm going to take him up on the offer, John." The detective circled the room, though the gun was kept at his side. "If he claims he can regenerate, then I want to see for myself." He turned to Alucard. "If your flesh knits back together, I'll believe you."

Alucard chuckled lowly, excitement clear in his frightening eyes. "So, through the head? The heart? Oh, but probably not anywhere my clothes might cover me. I might be wearing a vest."

"Nowhere vital." After glancing him over, his gaze zeroed in on his arm. "Thighs and arms house femoral and brachial arteries. If I hit one, you could die of blood loss within minutes. Vital organs, nerve bundles, and bones in the torso. Head and neck are out of the question. I'm not going to risk killing you on an assumption."

"The hand or foot," John sighed, figuring that there was no way to talk his friend out of this. "Most of the men I treated who suffered those injuries usually lived to tell the tale, though some of them suffered a permanent disability. Which is why I highly suggest that we find some other way to prove what you are."

"We tried that, didn't we?" Alucard asked, smirking. "You didn't believe me. What better way to prove that I am not human than to have my flesh heal before your very eyes? I can't think of any possible way something like this could be a hoax. Now," he held out his hand before a wall (which already had a few bullet holes in it already?), and with his other, gestured for him to go, "shoot."

Sherlock leveled the gun steadily. John looked away just before it fired, deafeningly loud in the small apartment.

There was no outcry of anguish. John turned back to Alucard and, against his hopes that his friend had missed, gasped in horror as he witnessed the blood gushing from the hole in his hand. There would be no mistaking that he had indeed been shot, and that the bullet had _exited_ his body; there was a hole large enough that he could see clearly through it to the other side. And yet, Alucard's expression was one of _amusement_. Not pain, not shock, not even the slightest wince. He was _smirking_.

And right before their eyes, a black shadow, much like the one they saw before when Alucard had first introduced himself, wrapped itself around his palm. The men watched in awe as it slowly as it wove itself inside of the wound. "John," Sherlock murmured, capturing his friend's attention. "Look at the blood."

The blood, which had splattered onto the wallpaper, was no longer there. Instead, it had run down the length of the wall (even though no earthly gravitational pull was strong enough for such small droplets to do so), and slowly pooled by Alucard's feet, then disappeared beneath the soles of his boots. For once, John and Sherlock wore mirroring looks of horror.

Alucard flexed his now completely healed hand. "Good as new."

Another silence reigned in the room. No occupant moved a muscle. Alucard's eyes shifted from Sherlock to John calmly, almost lazily, waiting expectantly, as if he was expecting a round of applause or for one or both of them to faint. John's eyes were glued to the hand that should, by all rights, _have a gaping hole in it_.

And Sherlock?

He was not focused on anything at all. At least, not anything outside of his own mind.

And like something purely out of a sitcom, Alucard's pocket started playing:

 _"_ _You are the dancing queen_

 _Young and sweet_

 _Only seventeen…"_

John's gaze flicked back to Alucard's in pure disbelief. The vampire's eyes were wide in a rare display of shock.

" _Dancing queen_

 _Feel the beat from the tambourine…"_

In one swift motion, the phone from Alucard's pocket was snapped open and pressed to his ear. He was wearing nothing short of a shit-eating grin. "Hello, Master," he purred in a sultry tone. "Remind me to have a conversation with the Police Girl about tampering with my phone."

The silence resumed, though there was a barely audible murmur coming from the other end of the conversation. "Really?" he asked, holding up one finger to let them know he was still on the phone. As if they did not already know. "Now?"

The voice on the other end came again, and the vampire slowly nodded along. "Well, this should be fun. I can't wait to see you there. Are you _excited_ , Integra? You do sound like it." Alucard's grin widened, and his fangs gleamed (were they a might sharper than before?). The voice on the other end raised in volume until abruptly cutting off. Alucard cackled as he snapped his phone shut. It was an older model- it had been ages since John had even _seen_ a flip-phone. "Oh, I do love riling her up."

Sherlock seemed to repress a repulsed shudder. "Your boss?"

Alucard dipped his head in acknowledgment. "There's another body waiting for us at Albert Dock in Liverpool. If, of course, it interests the detectives." He folded his hands together and tilted his head to the side, the picture of patience.

The two friends shared a glance, then looked back at him.

"Oh hell yes," John said.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Admittedly, the reality of how serious the situation had become did not dawn upon Sherlock Holmes until all three men piled into the helicopter.

He was right. He was _right_.

He.

Was.

 _Right_.

It had been a vampire that fateful day when he had seen that damned news article that Mycroft had so hastily tried to cover up, it had been a vampire that had drained the woman the night before, and it _was_ a vampire sitting right across from him, casually sipping from a bag of medical blood. Their eyes met again, Sherlock's piercing eyes boring into indecipherable red. Alucard smiled lazily, a knowing glimmer in his expression. No words were exchanged between the two, but neither looked away.

This was one stare-down of many that the two had been having ever since the vampire had entered their apartment (all thanks to Ms. Hudson, who had _given the vampire the invitation_ ). While normally Sherlock did not feel the need to hold these dominance-battles, in his scenario, he felt the need to assert himself. There was a threatening air about Alucard. It was all in his churlish, self-satisfied smirk; or perhaps the confident, imperial way he sat. Sherlock, when assessing an enemy or someone who could pose a sincere risk, among many other details, focused on body language. Alucard, either due to his age, race, or attitude, did not move. He was not prone to the habitual fidgeting of the average human; in fact, he did not breathe, save to speak. His offsetting demeanor, the stillness of him, and even that discomfiting spark of interest in his eyes when he looked at Sherlock put the consulting detective on edge. With a creature like that, it was _certainly_ better to stay as far out of its sight as possible. This was Dracula, after all; the Wallachian prince who had massacred his own citizens and enemies alike. The mad prince. The bloodthirsty count. And now the slave. Who knew what mayhem Alucard would cause if he became displeased, or felt that nothing more could be gained from Sherlock's existence? He was dancing a tango now, and if one step faltered, it could mean the end of both his and John's lives.

Sherlock imagined that not a lot of things could interest an ancient vampire. Blood, death, danger… _those_ seemed the types of things to catch his attention. Why would he be interested in a human's level of intelligence? And for that matter, why would he want help? Or rather, why would his boss be interested in hiring someone from his line of work? For all intents and purposes, Sherlock was barely a step above the innocent, average citizen.

And what about the reality of the situation? _Vampires were real_. That meant that they could exist _anywhere_ , blend in perfectly with their surroundings. That meant that there could be monsters dwelling in high positions of power. It meant monsters in society's underbelly.

 _Moriarty_ , Sherlock realized, sucking in a short breath. _Moriarty could know_.

"Alucard," he said, voice filtering through the speaker attached to his headphones. He could hear the shaky tone in his voice, and cleared his throat. Now was not a good time to appear weak.

The vampire tilted his head slightly in a show of acknowledgment.

"How many of your kind are there?"

Alucard blinked, then furrowed his brow. "In total? No straightforward way to answer that question. I believe I am the first to walk the earth, but I've created a few, who in turn created fledglings of their own. I've killed many, but they still appear to be in abundance."

 _Irresponsible, aren't you?_ Sherlock thought, irritably. _Not like you would care about the effect this could have on the human populace. You aren't one of us, so why should our plight concern you?_

Unbeknownst to Sherlock, Alucard's lips twitched as he listened in.

 _Does Moriarty know? He's never let on, but if vampires are widespread, why wouldn't he?_

"Who is Moriarty?" Alucard asked suddenly, breaking Sherlock from his thoughts.

John's expression mirrored his friend's, and he was the first to respond: "Er… what?"

Alucard wagged one index finger between them. "Both of your minds have jumped to that name. From what I've gathered of your apparent grudge, he's a particularly troublesome criminal. If it's someone that the Hellsing organization should be aware of, do not hesitate to enlighten me. I do love a good challenge."

 _He reads minds, too,_ Sherlock thought. _Lovely._ "The world's only consulting criminal."

Alucard let out a low huff of amusement. "I see. You've found a nemesis in him, have you? Someone of your caliber, perhaps higher? Someone like you who instead chose the side of the devil?"

An involuntary shiver of dread clawed its way down Sherlock's spine. "Yes."

He laughed. "All the more power to you, then. The world has a thin, thin balance of things, but it has balance nonetheless. It doesn't surprise me one bit that you should find a rival. Earth would be such a boring place without chaos."

"You sound just like him," Sherlock replied, his piercing gaze once more clashing with Alucard's.

"I've played both sides of the coin," was all that Alucard said.

John snorted, drawing the attention of both men. The vampire tilted his head slightly, curtaining his left eye with wispy black hair. The other seemed to brighten just a bit. This strange behavior sent a wave of anxiety over Sherlock. John seemed to grow nervous under the perilous gaze, for his shoulders stiffened. "Do you doubt me, Soldier?" Alucard asked, in a deceptively blasé drawl.

John's mouth twitched. "John or Dr. Watson if you please, Alucard." That earned him a fanged smile. "And yes, I do. As far as I recall, you were a tyrant as a man who butchered his people. I don't believe that you ever fought on the side of good at all."

A twisted sort of delight sparked in Alucard's eyes at the refutation. "Let me ask you something, then, Doctor. When your country's men went out onto the field of battle and butchered those who would stand against them, were they on the side of good?"

John did not hesitate to answer. "Yes. Yes, absolutely."

"Some might disagree."

"They fought for the good of the country they loved," John said.

Alucard smiled. "I slaughtered thousands of people because I believed it was the right thing to do. I thought that, if I brought the enemy to his knees, God would descend from His throne to bring us Jerusalem."

"And you failed," Sherlock murmured.

He nodded, solemn once more. "I failed, and I died."

"Is that it, then?" John asked. "Is that when you became a vampire? You forsook God because you thought He forsook you?"

Alucard once more gave John a considering glance. A flicker of understanding seemed to spark between them. "You're quite astute. I can see why the detective here picked you as a companion." Before John could ask what that was supposed to mean, the vampire leaned back again with a sigh. "Ahh, I see it now. You two complement one another perfectly. The detective finds the 'how', but _you_ find the 'why'." Alucard gave John a suggestive smirk (he had already read the good doctor's mind and knew that now was the perfect time to push a few buttons). "The brain and the heart, how adorable. How long have you been together?"

John's jaw dropped, flabbergasted. "He-"

"-hasn't popped the question yet?"

"He is not my boyfriend!"

*.*.*

One long and awkward ride later, the helicopter finally landed in a clearing near the buildings lining the docks. Men wearing green uniforms with red and black shields stitched to their arms and chests assisted the detectives out. Sherlock noticed a significant lack of attention directed Alucard's way, who exited the aircraft before them and gracefully swept past the soldiers. John regarded the men with a curt nod as they were directed towards the yellow-taped police barrier.

Alucard was already waiting by three people by the time John and Sherlock managed to catch up. One, Sherlock noticed with some interest, wore a red police uniform with a red and black badge shaped as a shield. She was quite short, an inch below John's height, and this made her look positively dwarfed beside Alucard, who stood a head taller than Sherlock himself. The woman was also surprisingly youthful, perhaps even younger than twenty years old, though judging by her muscles and the proud way in which she carried herself, she was quite the formidable opponent. Her eyes, when they glanced his way, startled him with their deep maroon coloration. _Another vampire, then,_ Sherlock supposed. _I thought she seemed underdressed for the cold. Now I see that the weather couldn't possibly bother her._

The man standing beside her was roughly Sherlock's height, though he was much older. His gray eyes were serene and the wrinkles resting around them gave the impression that he smiled often, though his demeanor was too sharp to give the feeling of a particularly kindly aged man. He was garbed in a white dress shirt, black dress pants, and a purple tie and vest; a simple butler's apparel, judging by that and the monocle resting before his left eye. His hands, however, were what captured Sherlock's interest the most; every so often, they gave a faint, nearly imperceptible twitch. It was not a nervous habit, Sherlock thought, observing his long fingers and the way they rested, faintly stretched, at his sides. It looked as though it was almost an unconscious habit; an unusual one, given, but an unconscious one nonetheless.

It was the woman whom captured most of Sherlock's attention. Her clothing mirrored that of Alucard's in a strange way; both wore a similarly knotted cravat about their necks and a formal black suit, though her coat was a light gray with the collar popped up to protect her from the viciously frigid wind that day. She was beautiful, Sherlock thought, but a deadly beauty, somewhat like the other vampire who stood beside her. The moonlight cast her platinum hair in a silvery glow, and the wind brushed her supple tresses aside to reveal the gun strapped to her hip. The faint sound of her voice carried to where the two detectives were fast approaching, and Sherlock instantly recognized her as the other voice on the phone. This could be none other than Alucard's master.

As he and John approached, the woman turned to them. Upon examining him, a knowing smile curled her lips. "Ah," she said, turning toward them completely, "there they are."

The old butler stepped forth with a polite bow. "A pleasure to meet you, Detective Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson. Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to Sir Integral Hellsing, leader of the Hellsing Organization and knight of the Round Table."

"A knight of the Round Table?" Sherlock asked, accepting the hand that Integra had proffered. "I never heard of vampires existing in the tales of King Arthur."

Integra let out a dry chuckle at that. "And I've never heard of a consulting detective before. I daresay you've hardly any room to make remarks about my profession. It's not a position well known to the public, as you can see."

"Mm," Sherlock hummed, scanning her up and down. "And I suppose that would be for the best, considering your pet vampires. I do wonder how tight a leash you have them on."

"Be careful of your tongue lest I rip it out, Detective," Alucard drawled, striding nearer so that he stood beside Integra. "See how theatric your deductions are when all you can do is gargle."

"Easy, Alucard," Integra said, raising a hand as if to halt him from taking any steps closer, though he seemed perfectly fine where he stood. "It's only natural that they should wonder if they had any concern for this land and its people."

"Down boy," Sherlock muttered quietly, smirking at the vampire, knowing perfectly well that he had been heard. Alucard narrowed his eyes at the slight.

Integra's calm demeanor darkened. "Although he does go about it in a rather rude way," she added, then turned back to the detective. "For generations, the Hellsing family has been defending Britain from the forces of darkness. My father, his father, and his father before him sought to protect the land from monsters using any means necessary. You must understand by now, Mr. Holmes, that the common human soldier is frail, slow, and altogether inadequate to fight a vampire. My job is to ensure as few casualties as possible. So, no; I will not needlessly send men into the field of battle to be nothing more than our enemies' fodder. If the concept frightens you, I apologize for offending your sophisticated sensitivities. If you would like to refuse aiding our organization, do say so now so that we may be done with you. Otherwise, you will be working alongside these monsters who are sworn to protect you."

Sherlock paused for a moment, then let out a small chuckle. "Oh, honestly. I would have to be mad to decline such a splendidly fascinating case. The game is afoot, and I will rise to any challenge you present me. That is, of course, assuming it is any challenge at all."

Integra's lips curved. There was something about the detective so much like Alucard that it was almost uncanny. "I can assure you, it will be."

And with that, Integra turned around and began her march towards the crime scene. "Step lightly, gentlemen," she said as they quickly followed suit. "You're about to see the works of a genuine monster."

 **So, the authoress here has recently gotten a new job and a boatload of new stress and responsibilities. Not to mention, I've kind of calmed down with the amount of work that I've been publishing lately, eh? I'm not on this site nearly as much as when I first started out here, unfortunately. Sorry about the long wait, everyone.**

 **On a more positive note, next chapter will definitely include a lot more exposition- not to mention Seras having some actual dialogue. You'll notice here that I've taken a few liberties with cannon. I want to say this is an alternate universe, but it will certainly have many elements of canon Hellsing Ultimate. So! Stay tuned! Love you all!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

As they made their way down the sidewalk, staring at the dark water sloshing nearby, John found himself walking beside the uniformed girl with red eyes. She looked youthful, but he was wary of the fact that vampires concealed their true age. Alucard would be nothing but a pile of dust, and yet there he was, spry as ever, wearing the guise of a man perhaps in his mid-thirties. This girl, however, didn't seem to have the same chaos in her eyes that he did. When she had first looked upon the two incoming detectives, it had been with interest, but not one of a morbid sort.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then offered a smile. "Hullo," she said. John was surprised at her cockney accent. For the chiefly refined accents he had seen from those from Hellsing, it was interesting to find someone who spoke a more common sort of dialect.

"Hi," he said back.

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence.

"So… you're a vampire, then?"

She gave him a wary look. The way she answered, "Yes?" as a sort of question made it appear as though she anticipated some sort of backlash for the answer.

John scratched his chin. "If you don't mind my asking… why are you wearing something like a policeman's uniform? Isn't the Hellsing organization military?"

Understanding seemed to dawn on her. "Oh. Well, before I became what I am, I was a policewoman. So, since vampires have a different niche than the humans who work here, I got a uniform similar to the one I wore before. I guess it's sort of a memento."

She was in the police, thought John, which means that she couldn't have died too long ago. Am I… older than her? "When did you join Hellsing?"

"Roughly eighteen years ago."

John's eyes widened. "You're in your thirties?"

She smiled. "Thirty-seven years young."

"Thirty-sev… you were nineteen as a police officer?"

She raised one eyebrow and made a small noise of interest. "Now that's something to think about. I've spent nearly half my life here at Hellsing." She turned to John again. "I wanted to become a police officer since I was a little girl, and so everything I did was in pursuit of my dream to protect people, like my father. But, life has a funny way of putting you where you need to be. Isn't that what happened to you, army-doctor-turned-detective?"

John blinked in surprise, then slowly, he smiled. He decided, in that moment, that he liked this vampire. Certainly much more than he did the other one, in any case, although… surprisingly, these monsters didn't seem nearly as bad as all the movies and books had it. He extended a hand. "John, if you please."

She beamed and accepted. Her grip was firm- as expected of someone who had served. Or, of course, expected of someone who possessed supernatural strength. "Captain Seras Victoria, but you can call me Seras."

Meanwhile, near the front of the pack, Sherlock eyed Integra curiously. "It's unusual for a woman to enjoy a cigar," he commented.

Integra turned to him with a slight smirk. She had her cigars stashed in the pocket of her trousers and had yet to draw one. But, rather than inflate his ego by asking how he had known (she had learned not to do such things around a particular vampire in red), she said: "You'll find, Mister Holmes, that I am an unusual woman."

"Not so unusual, I think. You smoke them to connect with your father, whose name starts with an 'A'." Integra, in that moment, remembered that her father's initials were carved onto her cigar box. "Tell me, how long has he been deceased?"

From behind them, Alucard snorted.

Integra arched an eyebrow. Perhaps, to sate her curiosity, she might indulge him a bit. "I follow how you could have guessed my reason for smoking, but I am curious to know how you found out about my father."

"Actually," Sherlock said, "I didn't, until just now. I guessed, because you are the current leader of your organization, meaning that it likely belonged to your father first."

Integra looked straight ahead, glacial eyes icing over and becoming an impenetrable shield. "My father, Arthur Hellsing, died when I was twelve years old. That was the year I obtained command of the Hellsing organization and became knighted as a defender of England."

A chill ran its icy fingers down Sherlock's spine, and not because of the temperature outside. "A child ran a military operation?"

Integra turned to look at him out of the corner of her eye. Though she did not stand anywhere near his height, her gaze alone made her appear twice his size. "I was not a child then, Mister Holmes. Not at all."

"So, something traumatic occurred then? Perhaps your father pushed you into becoming an adult from an early age, knowing he would soon perish?"

That was it, for Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. She turned to him, a firm mask set upon her face, hinting at none of the anger that was just boiling beneath the surface. When she next spoke, her tone was crisp. "You certainly enjoy sticking that beaky nose of yours into other peoples' business, don't you, Mr. Holmes?"

It took Alucard an immense amount of restraint not to let out to the laughter bubbling in his throat.

Sherlock looked scandalized. "My nose is not-"

"Shall I inform you gentlemen of how we believe this body may be related to the case you examined last evening?" Integra intoned, giving the detective a pointed look. "After all, that is the business you should be investigating."

"Please," said John, before Sherlock could say anything more. Seras giggled softly at their antics.

Integra's blue eye curved in amusement. "I'm sure both of you wondered just why it is that any killer, vampire or not, would choose his victims so spread apart. London is quite some way from Liverpool, after all, and until we managed to identify the man you are about to see, there was nothing in particular that seemed to link the two together, save for the fact that both were exsanguinated in similar fashions.

"The woman you examined earlier was named Louise Sutherland. She owned a small restaurant in Croydon called Louise's Taverna, which specializes in Greek and Mediterranean cuisine. The restaurant obtains its wine selection- and here, it gets interesting- from her second husband, who is a wine import clerk: Drew Windibank. As of four days ago, Mr. Windibank left for business in France and has yet to be found.

"The body you are about to see is of a man named Joseph Sutherland. He is the brother of Louise Sutherland and worked- rather humbly- as a construction worker. I shall let you gentlemen assess everything else."

The two detectives exchanged a look.

As soon as the group entered the vacant warehouse along the dock, both John and Sherlock were startled to see someone familiar inspecting the body lying on the floor.

"Molly?" John exclaimed.

Molly Hooper rose from her crouching position and waved at the approaching group. "Hello," she said.

Sherlock, getting over his surprise quickly, turned to Integra. "Why is she here?"

"Like you and Doctor Watson, Doctor Hooper here also analyzed the body from earlier. I felt that, since she was already involved and has already proven herself a valuable asset to your investigations, she should be involved. Miss Victoria was in charge of her introduction," Integra said.

"I'm quite able to handle this case, Sherlock," Molly said, offering the detective a confident smile.

"Are you?"

This question came from a new voice. Alucard, who had slipped away from the group without anyone's knowing, came to stand in front of her. Integra, unlike the other members of the group who looked on in varying degrees of nervousness, merely buried her face in her hand and let out a small groan.

"I'm simply curious, is all," he defended, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly as he observed her. Molly had paled, and seemed on the verge of stepping back due to Alucard's daunting height and presence. "Vampires are much more unpredictable, much more dangerous than the criminals you've observed before. What makes you think you've got what it takes to face the supernatural?"

She paused for a moment as she carefully met his gaze. "You would be Alucard, right? Seras's master?"

He smiled, baring his fangs. "I am."

Molly was not deterred. Rather, she offered him a small smile of her own- though there was still a lingering hint of nervousness in her demeanor. It seemed that Alucard was certainly different from Seras (though she had been well informed, prior to this moment, of this fact and had been at least somewhat prepared for his antics). "Well, then, Mr. Alucard: I would like to inform you, and everyone else in this room, that I love a good challenge." She stuck out a hand in greeting. "It's a pleasure to work with you."

Everyone in the room was shocked by this bold move, including Alucard. The vampire, however, was quickest to recover. Alucard, smirking, slowly reached forward and took her hand in his. But rather than shake, he turned it over and breathed a small kiss on her knuckles. Every shred of confidence fled her expression the moment his lips touched her, and a wild blush broke out across her cheeks instead. "A pleasure to work with you as well, Molly Hooper," he purred, tone dropping an octave. "I do hope you continue to prove your mettle."

It seemed that, just for once, Sherlock was not the only person occupying Molly Hooper's interests.

And so of course, Sherlock was the one to break the tensity of the moment. "Shall we move on to the actual reason we're here, then, or shall we continue lingering about the dead body like hungry flies?"

"Yes, let's look at the body now, please," Integra said, a very noticeable hint of irritation in her clipped tone.

Alucard laughed, stepped aside, and made a grand gesture towards the corpse. "After you, boys."

Sherlock bent over the body of Joseph Sutherland. This corpse, just as Integra said, had indeed been drained of its blood, but there was something... different, about the wound. With the first, it had been a clean, calculated bite. This one, however, was much messier about the throat.

He moved down to examine the torso. Gently, he pressed down upon the chest and noticed several cracked ribs, caving inward.

This led him to crouch by the hands. Sherlock put on a pair of latex gloves and gingerly grabbed one hand by the wrist. A slow smile began to form on the detective's face upon noticing the remnants of dust coating the knuckles and the sleeves of man's wind-resistant jacket.

Sherlock looked up, towards the entrance of the warehouse. A gust of wind blew in right at that exact moment. He moved away from the body and walked towards the adjacent wall, then ran a finger along the crease between the wall and the floor. When he withdrew, his finger came away dark.

"Alucard," Sherlock said, turning to look at the vampire. "When your species dies, they turn to dust, correct?"

The vampire nodded. "Any interesting ideas, detective?"

Sherlock's lips twitched in a false smile. "Always. But first, I want to know how good Hellsing is in solving crimes. Why don't you tell me what you can observe?"

This was not a position that Alucard had ever been in before, and at first, the old vampire was taken aback by the idea that he would, for the first time, get to play the role of a detective. A part of him at first was tempted to tease Sherlock about "not doing his job", but somehow, he knew that this was part of his process. He glanced at John out of the corner of his eye, and a look of understanding came over him.

Sherlock Holmes worked best when he had someone to ignore utterly, shoot down, or someone who could challenge him.

"There was a struggle. By the blood on the floor leading to the corpse, one of the killers ultimately prevailed."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "How many killers? Go on, don't be dull. Enthrall us with every grisly detail."

Alucard's eyebrows shot up his forehead at the detective's audacity. Then, a slow grin began to creep up on his face.

"Very well."

 **Lol my dudes I haven't posted a new chapter in like a year. I'm honestly so surprised that I somehow managed to forget about this for so long- I really do enjoy writing this story! It's just that, well, life and responsibilities have taken first priority. Plus, I'm actually writing a book, so that has also been taking up much more of my writing time. Not to mention there is a bunch of other fanfiction that I haven't published purely because it's a bit more of a "for fun". I know it's crazy, since fanfiction itself is for-fun, but this stuff that I've been writing is not something I would consider posting on here yet as it lacks plot, development, or anything I'd want to put on here YET. There's always hope for the future though, ha.**

 **ANYWHO, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry for the long wait. I'm not promising an immediate update, but I haven't scrapped this story and do intend to (eventually) add more to it. Let's hope I get another chapter up WITHIN the year, lol.**

 **To my lovely reviewers whose posts actually inspired me to get my ass in gear and publish this latest chapter, thank you all so much! Your kind words never cease to make me smile.**

 **To wolfnymph1: Those books were actually my inspiration! Man, I LOVE Saberhagen's Dracula series, and would recommend those books to anyone who loves to hear things from the "villain" perspective.**

 **To AmericanWildDog: Oh, the stress will arrive soon. These characters will have a hell of a time trying to get along while working together- though it's clear that there is some level of respect already present, I am SO ready to develop the characters' relationships on a more full (and not simply introductory) level.**

 **To DianaPrince31: I. Love. Integra. She is a beautiful killer queen and I would die for her.**

 **Also, I ship Sherlolly, Alutegra, and Peras. But that's not to say I'm not open to trying new ships, mixing and matching the characters from the different universes at my leisure. ;)**

 **Might be interesting to see Alucard interacting with The Woman. Lord knows he loves his dominatrices. We'll see if I can fit in at least a little blurb or one-shot here. Man, I love this crossover. There are so many possibilities and angles to consider!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Alucard took a single, cursory glance around the room, then focused once again on Sherlock. There was a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "Detective, would you do me the honor of being my victim?"

"Alucard," Integra intoned, warning evident in her tone.

"Come now, Master," the vampire said, turning to Integra with a large, fanged smirk. "This is all make-believe. Sherlock here wants me to enthrall you with my interpretation of the events, and I believe a physical demonstration will be very helpful. After all, who doesn't like a little dinner theater?"

There was a ripple of discomfort through the group.

Only Sherlock was unruffled. Ostensibly. "I'll play along. Let's see how competent you actually are."

Nearly every single tooth in Alucard's grinning mouth was now visible. " _Wonderful!"_ Sherlock was suddenly seized round the shoulders by a pair of large, clammy hands. Alucard herded him, like a child, to the other end of the room and turned to the group, grin wide and manic and very, very sharp.

"Our story takes place at roughly the same time as Mrs. Sutherland's murder. Meaning, at roughly two in the morning. He entered, right where our detective stands, and he was armed. For whatever reason, the victim suspected that he might need to fight, as indicated by the traces of silver embedded in the walls- remnants of ricocheted bullets." The vampire gestured along the concrete panels of the buildings. He made a gun with his fingers and pointed towards the wall. "The weapon was automatic, judging by how many shots he was able to fire before he stopped. Just ask Integra: the best weapon a human could wield against a vampire would be one that allows for the largest amount of damage in the shortest amount of time, because we can move much faster than a human. A MAC10 fires a .45 round and is best for longer ranges and is easily concealable, so I would assume that or something of its likeness was our victim's weapon of choice. It's much easier to kill a vampire from a distance, as it is nearly impossible for the average human to do it up close and personal."

"And the vampires?" Sherlock asked, cutting in to Alucard's deductions. "How many? Were they armed?"

Alucard grinned. "Armed _with_ their teeth, not _to_ them. They thought this one would be easy. The only bullet marks visible here were aimed at where I now stand. That means: there were _two_. One to dissolve promptly into ashes..." Suddenly, Alucard's form burst into a cloud of black mist and vanished. Sherlock violently jerked when Alucard suddenly appeared in front of him and he placed one cold hand on his chest. "And the second to go in for the kill. He was pushed, right where his ribs are cracked, against a wall and that was where he died."

John's jaw nearly dropped when Sherlock said: "You're quite clever."

The vampire grinned and backed away.

"Clever indeed, yes... but you didn't get everything."

Alucard's grin vanished instantly and was replaced by a look of intrigue. "Oh?"

"There were three." Sherlock knelt by the body and raised Joseph Sutherland's arm. "Dust, all the way up to the middle of his forearm on his dominant hand, and only on the side facing his pinky finger. I believe there was another vampire, a taller than him, whom he stabbed through the chest with... do stakes work?"

"No. Only silver and holy artifacts," replied Integra.

"A piece of silver or holy artifact, then. This was the one that Joseph here did not aim for. The gun was promptly knocked out of his hands, but just before this one could finish the job, out comes the sharp object, and suddenly," Sherlock thumped the side of his fist against Alucard's chest, "the second vampire goes down."

Alucard's eyes widened in realization (and, perhaps, a little surprise at Sherlock's audacity- though Sherlock quickly backed away after getting his revenge). "And that would leave the third vampire to push him away, too late to save his partner. The vampire panicked and used more strength than necessary."

Molly gasped and pointed at the wall. "That's where his body hit! Right after he was shoved, like you said, and the momentum would have carried him there! I had noticed severe bruising on his back and a softness of his skull."

Sherlock nodded in confirmation, raising his hand and showing the dried blood on the tip of his finger that he had inserted into the gap in the wall. "The killer cleaned up a bit, got rid of most of the blood and the weapons, then vanished. But he wasn't thorough because he was in a rush. He left the body here, after all. But why? If you commit a murder, the first thing you do is get rid of the body. Obviously, Mr. Sutherland was dragged away, far enough for cleaning to ensue, but why not dumped in the river?"

"Maybe he wanted to, er... finish his meal?" John guessed. "Wait... if Mr. Sutherland was bitten by a vampire, why didn't he become one of them or a ghoul?"

"One must be drained entirely for this to take effect, unless the victim was bitten by a ghoul," Walter replied.

"But the soldier has a point," Alucard mused. "Why not drink all the blood? I'd have just eaten him and been done with it."

Everyone else, once again, displayed varying degrees of discomfort at his bluntness. Sherlock, ignoring him, moved to crouch next to the body. He gently touched his index and middle fingers to the wound on the dead man's neck. "Maybe... they're not used to being messy," he murmured, quietly.

Alucard cocked his head. "A mental disorder?"

"You looked in my mind again," Sherlock accused, looking up to glare at him.

"No, actually..." Alucard paused, and in that moment, it almost looked as if he was impressed. "This time, we're simply on the same page. The other body was much neater, because Mrs. Sutherland didn't put up any fight. Vampires are just as psychologically complex as human beings: it would not be considered far-fetched to put into the realm of possibility that a vampire has obsessive compulsive disorder relating to blood. But then of course, this is all speculation. Viewing the murder scene has proved nothing."

It was at this moment that Integra decided that important decision was to be made. "Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson, Molly Hooper," she said, inclining her head. Her glasses flashed in the moonlight. "I believe, from what I have thus far observed, that you may be of use to our organization. Would you agree to a brief partnership?" Before allowing them an answer, she turned to and addressed Sherlock directly. "And I do mean _partnership_. I'll not have you two running about willy-nilly with the sensitive information that you currently possess. For the duration of the case, you will take up brief residence at my manor, where we can keep an eye on you, as is the case under all those employed by Hellsing."

"You're worried we'll blab about our case?" John asked, his tone announcing his displeasure about the idea of sleeping under the same roof as two vampires. Or, at least, one vampire in particular.

"It's more like we're worried about our enemies tracking you down for information," Integra replied. "And as you can imagine, our enemies are not of the most benevolent sort. They would likely go about extracting it in a very painful way, and if you _did_ happen to compromise us, you would face a life sentence in prison for treason. So to avoid that, you'll just need to stay under our roof if you want to solve the case."

"And naturally, don't blog about it," added Walter, a glimmer of mischief in his old gray eyes.

Seras's eyes widened with intrigue. "You two blog about solving crimes?"

"Just me," John said, shifting with discomfort. "I... I write down some of the cases Sherlock and I take up. There have been a few that I haven't included as per the request of some of our clients."

"As soon as you were both referenced by detective inspector Lestrade, I of course had to run a background check. The blog is apparently quite popular- I myself am quite partial to the case about Irene Adler," Walter said.

Integra arched an eyebrow. "That's interesting."

"Oh, God..."

Seras brightened considerably. "I think it's great that he writes a blog! I would myself, if I could. Especially about all the weird stuff that happens in the manor- and the weird people in it." At the end of that sentence, she fixed Alucard with a pointed look, to which he responded with a roll of his eyes.

"I was told that the queen reads the blog, too," added Molly.

"Really?" asked Alucard, with sudden interest.

"Can we all stop talking about my blog, please?" John pleaded. "We do actually have to think about your proposal, Miss Hellsing."

"No, we don't." Sherlock stepped gingerly over the body, long coat flapping as he did. "This is, undoubtedly, one of the most extraordinary cases I've encountered. I would sleep in a toolshed if it meant I could catch an actual vampire."

"I agree with Sherlock," Molly added, sending a shy smile Integra's way. "Though, something tells me sleeping in a manor is a little better than a toolshed."

"We'll take the case," Sherlock said, despite the irritated look John was sending his partner. "Our next course of action-"

"-will be to review the files that we have on Louise Sutherland and consolidate our information. Afterwards, we must interrogate Louise Sutherland's daughter, Mary, for details regarding her stepfather's mysterious disappearance, or any other matter of importance," Integra interrupted, sending Sherlock a warning glare. "Do not forget that _I_ am directing this investigation, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock looked as though he had sucked on a lemon. "Very well. John and I will speak to the daughter."

Integra's glasses flashed in the moonlight. "Actually, I believe John and Seras will make an excellent team for that."

"And just what exactly will _I_ be doing?"

Was the Hellsing director's smile just a little too reminiscent of her servant's?

"Why, you'll be boarding a plane to France, of course. With Alucard and Ms. Hooper."

Sherlock, John, and Alucard simultaneously offered their two cents about that particular decision, but it was the quieter fourth voice to which Integra paid any attention.

"Um, Ma'am…" Molly started, shyly cutting in with a slightly raised hand, as if she were in a classroom. "I appreciate you putting me in this investigation and all, and I'm certainly not going to decline a trip to France, but… are you sure I'm best suited for this sort of investigative work? I'm at my best surrounded by dead bodies, not live ones." When everyone gave her a variety of looks (ranging from Alucard's thorough delight to Seras's sympathy), she winced. "That came out wrong…"

"The fact of the matter is, you are trustworthy enough to supervise these two grown children in my absence." Integra gave her a small, cunning smile. "Unless you're having second thoughts after all?"

Cold sweat ran down her spine. "You… You mean to make me the babysitter… of _them_?" Molly asked helplessly, gesturing to Sherlock and Alucard.

Alucard leaned down beside her and gave her a toothy smile, to which Molly responded by giving him a wide berth. "Afraid I'll misbehave?" he asked them, turning to Integra.

"More that you both will be stupid and reckless. And I would like to have an actual adult present whenever any "calls" are made." Integra looked away bitterly. "Lord knows I learned my lesson with the Rio incident."

Molly did not dare ask what happened in Rio. She did not need her current anxiety quadrupled.

"They attacked me first," Alucard said.

"If you call _that_ "self defense", I don't want to know what your version of "offense" is." She shook her head. "But, unfortunately, I am burdened with that knowledge as well."

For a moment, it looked as though Alucard was going to question her judgment, but he shrugged it off and dipped his head in acknowledgment. "If it is what my Master wishes, I will follow the little doctor's orders." He glanced at Molly again, then added wryly, "To an extent."

"I shall set those boundaries tomorrow," Integra said. Then, she addressed the group. "For now, let's head to the manor to retire, then resume our work in the morning. Our three new members will have their things sent for soon. In the meantime, they will get acquainted with their new living quarters."

Later, Mrs. Hudson would be ripped from her morning cleaning ritual by three government officials knocking on her door. It would take a few minutes for her to be assured they had not come for her "herbal soothers".

*.*.*

The ride to the manor had not been too bad. There had been plenty of helicopters at the crime scene (and really, perhaps too many? It seemed to be a somewhat excessive amount), so Molly was able to choose a relatively empty one, with only a pilot and copilot at the front, while John and Sherlock took another. Integra once again took her own, and the vampires (as Integra had informed them) "chose their own way to travel".

That had given her an iota of relief; she could sit back and mull over what became a particularly unusual night.

Had.

It just so happened that Alucard decided to take a helicopter as his method of travel.

It just so happened that he chose _her_ helicopter.

Where they would be alone in the back.

"Mind if I join you?" he had asked, placing his hand atop the doorway and with one foot already inside, after she had already taken her seat and put on her protective helmet. Though he spoke in his normal tone of voice, she could hear him perfectly over the roar of the chopper's blades, as if his voice had come from her mind, rather than the space beyond.

Molly, who was a polite lady, could not have declined him even if he did not already have one foot in the door.

She had thought, once upon a time, that nobody could match the presence of Sherlock Holmes. When he entered the room, you noticed when he did. When he spoke, you heard him. When he left, you noticed his absence. Whether you loved or hated Sherlock Holmes, you could not ignore him.

And then she met Alucard.

As his presence engulfed their small shared space, Molly elected to attempt small talk. Though she hated it, that would be much more comfortable than any other sort of talk- or lack thereof- that would transpire with him. "Is Seras taking a car?"

"No, she's flying."

"Oh. I… didn't see her get on a helicopter."

"That's because she isn't taking one."

"Then how…?" Molly quickly glanced out of the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of crimson streaking through the night skies, or a colony of bats. But, it was far too dark. The only thing she could see was the distant moon, cold and watchful. Something about it made Molly think of Integra.

"I used to fly often, as a fledgling," Alucard said, out of the blue. When she quickly turned back to look at him, there was something terribly serious about his demeanor. It was quite startling, actually. How had his mood changed so rapidly? "It can be exhilarating, in bat shape or otherwise. But then you get used to it as a method of transportation. You get older, and time means nothing to you, and you decide that it's easier just to sit back and wait a few hours."

 _Yes, that's all well and good, but why_ my _helicopter_? Molly wondered, somewhat frantically. She also wondered, distantly, how old one would have to be to become bored of flying.

Alucard's lips twitched. "You seem to have made quite an impression, Doctor. I wonder why Integra seems to think you can handle such a dangerous operation?"

 _Me too_. "Listen, Alucard… about this mission…"

"Yes?"

Molly nervously worried her lower lip. "You won't go about killing people willy-nilly, right? If I tell you _no_ , then it will mean 'no'?"

"If your command is possible, without contradicting Integra's orders or putting the mission in jeopardy, then I will follow it. But I will warn you: your pacifism may wind up endangering more lives than it will save." He arched an eyebrow. "But something tells me there's something else you're concerned about."

This surprised Molly. She had not considered the possibility that perhaps Alucard was as skilled at reading people as he was with deductions. But then again, she supposed that if she lived to be God-knew-how-old, she would acquire such a skill too. Still, she wasn't too keen on exposing any weaknesses in front of Alucard.

"Oh, not really. Just a little nervous about going to France, is all."

He did not even look remotely convinced. "Really?"

"Really. I've never been."

"I suppose that would make sense," Alucard said. There was a wicked glimmer in his eyes. "Tell me. Where would you go? Paris? Saint-Michel? Versailles?"

Molly looked away. "Oh, of course I would go to Paris. Anyone would. It's the city of love."

"Who would you bring?"

The question was loaded. "I… I don't know."

Alucard smirked. "I wonder who the detective would bring."

She winced, then looked away. Had he come there simply to mock her?

"A word of advice, Doctor? Don't waste your time on worrying about the detective. Focus instead on keeping your head above the water. I guarantee, our upcoming mission is going to require much more of your headspace than your little schoolgirl crush."

Anger boiled in her stomach. Molly fixed her eyes on Alucard and, in a moment which felt as though she watched herself from outside her own body, said: "Well, at least I know how to deal with an unrequited crush instead of making others miserable."

She took a little satisfaction in observing Alucard's mocking smile get knocked clean off his face; though the feeling didn't last long before it was replaced with pure dread. The vampire's crimson eyes narrowed, and a dangerous scowl darkened his countenance. "Just what is that supposed to mean, Molly Hooper?"

 _Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, he's mad…_ Molly took in a shaky, fortifying breath. "W-Well… w-what I had _meant_ to s-say, was that… that…"

But what matter was it that he was angry? It was a certainty that Alucard killed people, and she definitely didn't want to get on his bad side, but there was simply no way he would harm her. Not when she would be working alongside the Hellsing organization. Seras had told her that she would be protected, and damn it if she was going to let herself become another man's doormat!

"…that you are a hypocrite." Alucard's dark eyebrows shot up his forehead and his eyes grew almost comically wide. "I-I can read people too, you know! I think Integra-"

" _Be careful what words you speak,_ " Alucard growled, silencing her. "I will not tolerate insolence, no matter who you are."

Molly stiffened her back. "Then let me finish."

Some of the anger vanished from Alucard's eyes. He did not say anything more, and Molly took this as a cue that he would give her a chance. "Integra is a beautiful, intelligent, strong woman. I think you admire her greatly."

He let out a derisive snort. "Really?"

"And I also think you wish things could be different. I think you play the "happy servant" card because that's the only card you can play, because you know that things can't ever go any further between you two. And I play the role of the friendly scientist because I could never be what Sherlock would want me to be. So… So I think we're the same, Alucard. Because I have to accept that too. Things just… are the way they are."

Slowly, his expression morphed into one of simple bemusement. "You…" He shook his head, and there was a smile on his face now, but it didn't seem quite so sinister. "You're an interesting sort of human, Molly Hooper, I'll give you that."

Her heart fluttered, and she was concerned about the fact that it wasn't doing that just because she was afraid. She nervously twisted at her sweater sleeves, all too conscious of the fact they were quite a distance away from London- and the fact that the seats on the helicopter were so close that their knees were almost touching.

Surprisingly, this time it was Alucard who broke the silence. "You don't seem like the morbid sort, you know."

Molly looked back at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You look like you would fit in a profession much less gruesome than a forensic pathologist. Don't get me wrong: your little comment about working best with dead bodies was _hilarious_ ; but why is that so, I wonder?"

"Well, my mum and dad always wanted me to be a doctor, because they were doctors too. When I was in college, I thought it was interesting that I could do that while also sort of helping solve crimes."

"You said "were"," Alucard said. "Are they dead?"

"Retired," she replied, smiling a little. "My life really isn't all that depressing, aside from the fact I'm always surrounded by dead bodies and I'm stricken by an unrequited love for a man who doesn't see me as anything more than a coworker."

He let out a soft huff.

This was a different sort of Alucard than the one she had seen earlier, Molly realized. His eyes didn't seem quite so violent now; not quite so enlivened by bloodshed and carnage. He seemed almost… burdened?

"I don't have an unrequited crush on Integra, you know," he said, an empty smirk gracing his lips. "Though you were correct about my inability to deal with a crush without creating misery. I envy her, for all that she is. In a way, I suppose I do love her, but not in the way that you would assume. And you are also correct that we are the same, in one aspect: we want to be something that we are not. I will never be human again, and you will never be a brilliant crime solver.

"I hope for your sake that you become something more. You'll need to grow a much thicker skin if you'll have any hope for the kind of work you're signed up for now. You may have seen death, but you haven't even begun to know it."

It was in that moment that Molly was once again reminded that Alucard was much, much older than he looked. "Well, I hope for your sake that you learn some restraint. You can't just kill Sherlock if he gets on your nerves."

"Is that so!" Alucard laughed.

Molly smiled, brown eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "So what is Hellsing like? I've never been in a manor before. Will I get lost?"

"Most certainly. It is… large. Spartan, I'd say, though the rooms all have what you need. It's an old place, and it has been renovated so many times I couldn't even hazard to guess what it originally looked like. It's… home, I suppose."

"Does it not feel that way to you?"

Alucard paused for a moment to consider it. "Has any place ever truly felt like home since you left your childhood?"

"Once. But that was a long, long time ago."

"Oh, I doubt that. Go on, Miss Hooper, enlighten an old fool like myself."

Why did her cheeks suddenly feel hot? "Oh, you… you can call me Molly. There was a time, when I was in the middle of my twenties, I had met this beautiful man with the most stunning blue eyes you've ever seen. We had gone through college together and planned to marry, and one night when we were watching Downton Abbey together and I was laying on his shoulder… the whole world just felt warm again, like everything made sense and there was nothing that could ever go wrong. I don't know… I guess it's just a feeling you get when you're with the right people at the right time."

When she looked up, she was able to catch just the quickest glimpse of that same burdened expression on Alucard's face before his mask slipped back on. It occurred to Molly then that perhaps the centuries of his life had taken a more massive toll on him than he let on. She wondered what it would be like to live so long, knowing that anyone she ever did or would care about would turn to dust long before she ever died.

Alucard glanced away, pretending to look out at the night sky. "Ahem. Yes, well. It seems my master is calling me, so I had better check on her."

As he made to get up, Molly, without thinking, reached for him. "Wait! I-" Their eyes met again, and this time, both were shocked at her outburst. Molly looked down at their joined hands and released him, heart hammering in her chest. "Sorry! Sorry! I-I just, um…"

 _Think! Think, dammit!_

"I was wondering, if it isn't too much to ask… if you'd give me a tour of the manor? If you wanted? If not, I understand. Sorry if I was rude."

Alucard blinked several times, still clearly taken aback. Then a funny little smile that wasn't quite like any of the others she had seen that night came upon his face. "Well… I suppose that would be a good idea if you didn't want to get lost, wouldn't it? Very well; if it's your wish, I'll give you the grand tour. For now, good evening, Molly."

Then, like a ghost, Alucard vanished through the helicopter door without ever opening it.

His hand had been surprisingly warm.

 **Ha ha! I live, suckers!**

 **To those of you who have never written any mystery stories... DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD THAT SHIT IS?! This was my first real attempt at doing any story like that, and it's like... you've got a story, right? And any other story requires a pretty high-powered magnifying glass to pick through all the details and stuff to keep track of who's doing what and why. For instance: "Wait, did he ever put down the cup of water in his hand? No? Should I write him doing that in a certain way to convey tension? Why can't he put the cup down normally? Should he gesture with it?"**

 **And then mystery is like: "You remember that little scuff on the table from three chapters ago? WELL SOMEHOW THAT'S GONNA LEAD INTO HOW SOMEONE FUCKING DIED."**

 **That doesn't sound like much, but imagine that with EVERY SINGLE DETAIL FROM THE CRIME SCENE.**

 **Anyways, I'm having a ball. I hope you guys are too. There will be slight elements of romance, but I honestly just can't resist writing just a little of that in here. Also, I believe vampires do actually possess body heat. Alucard's breath fogs sometimes in the OVA/manga (though it may be just to make him creepier) so I figured I'd roll with that here. Your reviews are lovely! Hope you liked this latest installment and that you're all having a nice summer!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Alucard returned to the manor only moments after departing Molly Hooper's helicopter in quite a state. Thankfully, no one of importance noticed his disheveled appearance; this meant he had time to think, and think carefully.

The first thing on his mind was that he needed blood. Lots of it, and fast.

It was only halfway through his seventh bag (apparently he had raided the refrigerator in his brief period of mental absence) that he began to regain some sense of clarity.

God. _God_.

That girl… he shut his eyes and finished off the bag in one gulp, wishing desperately that alcohol would have any effect on him if he drank that instead. Wasn't this just beautiful? Wasn't this just familiar? A vampire murderer, a team of vampire slayers, a human girl whose heart was already occupied with someone else.

This was _not good._

Oh, the two detectives had been just delicious. This was going to be a great deal of fun, he could already tell. He could toy with them, pick their brains, enjoy the thrill of a good hunt once more. And this case _was_ a good hunt. Alucard had been alive for a long, long time. He knew when true, honest-to-God excitement was just on the horizon.

But that damned girl.

Alucard ripped violently into his ninth bag, sharp teeth tearing the plastic tube to shreds. Blood dribbled down his chin and onto the floor.

This was just grand. Apparently, he had not learned his lesson with Mina. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he convinced himself that he was _just fine_ , he didn't _want_ anything to do with human women any longer, there'd be that _one_ that came around and looked at him with those big, doe eyes and he'd get distracted and _lose everything_.

He had gotten into that helicopter with every intention of screwing with her head. What he had intended to be nothing more than a couple of hours of entertainment had turned drastically upside-down, and now it sort of felt like _he_ had been the one made to dance like some pathetic marionette. Once it had become quite apparent that he could not goad her as he did the two detectives, once it had become quite apparent that he in fact _liked_ her, there was no way he was going to stick around.

He would have been so smart about it. If he had just _left_ like he had intended, everything would have been fine. But then she had to take his hand and look at him so earnestly and ask him so sweetly if oh, if he just wouldn't mind showing her around a bit-

Even as he clenched the empty bag in a tight fist, his palm tingling a little where she had touched him. " _Fuck_ ," Alucard cursed softly. As much as he loved women (and he did love women), they could be such pains in the ass.

It was as he was in this state that Seras happened upon him in the kitchen. "Whoa," she exclaimed, crimson eyes going wide with surprise and worry. "Master, you look awful!"

As annoying as that statement was, a small part of Alucard couldn't help but find it just a little hilarious that she would be so frank with him. She certainly had grown much more comfortable around him since her time as the timid fledgling almost twenty years ago. "Thank you, Seras," he responded dryly.

At any other time, Seras probably would have rolled her eyes, but Alucard really did look out of sorts, and she really was worried about him. She stepped further into the kitchen, carefully closing the door behind her to keep listening ears away. "What did I miss after taking off? Did something happen?"

 _Define 'happen'._ "I'm simply readying myself for this case." _And the shitstorm that will definitely accompany it._

Seras arched a golden eyebrow. "You're making a right proper mess of the kitchen is what you're doing. You only get this way whenever you think something big is about to happen. So… what's really going on, Master? Think something interesting is underway now that we've hired a few new people?"

Alucard breathed a small chuckle and shook his head. Seras always did read between the lines, didn't she? "It's simply an inkling. But yes… I've caught the whiff of something much more dangerous lurking beneath the surface of this case. I don't think this is the work of any ordinary vampire group; nor do I think there are so few culprits involved as evidence suggests."

The former policewoman hopped up on top of the counter and began to swing her legs. "So… you're stress-eating."

"I do not "stress-eat"," Alucard scoffed defensively, taking the plastic tube out of his mouth to scowl at her.

Seras smiled fondly. "So, what do you think of them? I'm pretty sure that John fellow's pretty nice, and I got along well with Molly, but I'm not quite sure how I feel about Sherlock. He seems like he knows what he's doing, but he's a little rude. At least he hasn't tried to deduce me yet."

"Out loud," Alucard corrected. "There's still time. Sherlock strikes me as the type of man who has someone to impress. It makes no difference to me one way or another, though. I'll give you a more complete answer to that question when I've actually seen him do more than make skilled observations. And I expect you to be wary around his little sidekick. If he proves himself useless without someone holding his hand, Integra needs to know so that he may be booted off the case. Being a 'nice fellow' does not earn him any brownie points, as far as I'm concerned."

Seras had known her master for many, many years. And because of this, she knew she could detect just the subtlest hint of something not-quite-so objective in his voice. "You worried about me?" she asked, cocking her head and giving him the slyest of grins. Though she knew his feelings were not quite so extreme, she did know there was something past his stony façade.

He scowled again, this time baring his teeth. "Bah. Away with you, vixen. I am in no mood." And to punctuate his order, he made a shooing gesture with his free hand.

Seras giggled and hopped off the countertop. "That wasn't exactly a deniiiiaaaal," she sang, tugging on his sleeve as she passed him. When Alucard made to swat at her hand, he found that she had vanished from the room.

"Imp," he growled under his breath, turning back to his blood.

 _Women_.

*.*.*

All of this was beginning to grow just a little too weird for Doctor John Watson.

He had thought he had accepted weird. Embraced it. Danced with it in the pale moonlight.

Now the fucking walls were talking to him.

It was after he had been shown to the kitchen and then his own private chambers, after he had doused his face in icy water, after he had changed into his nightwear- which was a tank top and boxers. After he sat on the edge of his new bed, in a room as unfeeling as any hotel, staring at absolutely nothing as he let the day play over in his head.

 _Wake up. Enjoy some tea and scones Mrs. Hudson brought over. Leave after Sherlock drags me out of the apartment after exclaiming that there was, "A murder! Finally, a murder!" Examine a body. Come home. Meet Dracula. Fly in a helicopter with Dracula. Meet another vampire. Examine another body. Get taken against my will to live with Dracula._

It was when he got up to his feet (after deciding that sleep was going to be next to impossible and tugging on some sweatpants) to go and get some water. Apparently, the servants in this household did not exactly know sleep either, so the hallways leading into the kitchen were lit. The kitchen itself, however, was dark, and after the door closed behind him, he could barely see the hand in front of his face.

Stumbling through the darkness like a drunken zombie (and probably looking the part, too), he managed to fumble his way through pouring himself a glass, though a little bit had spilled on the floor somewhere in the process.

On his way out, however, he slipped on a patch of the wet floor and had to use the wall as support, which meant he banged his hand rather violently against it.

The second thing that nearly scared him to death within the three seconds of this occurrence was the fact that the wall shouted, " _Aie_!" as he did.

As John looked frantically around him in the darkness to locate the source of the voice, it came again from all directions at the same time the kitchen flooded with light. " _Merde, man, turn the lights on next time!_ "

The light switch, by the way, had not been flipped by any visible hand.

John's eyes were comically wide. "Who just said that?" he demanded, peering over the countertop and finding no prankster ducking beneath.

" _Pip Bernadotte, monsieur. Did they not brief you before you came here?"_

" _Brief_ me?" John said, twisting around again. Really, the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. "Brief me on what? Are you another vampire?"

There was a hearty chuckle. " _Oh, now that's too funny! Though I don't envy you one bit, it's funny to be on the other side of these things."_

Before John could ask just what the hell that meant, the wall across from him suddenly expelled some dark miasma, and out of it formed what he could only guess was Pip Bernadotte. As John staggered backwards, the strange man raised both his hands in surrender. "Whoa, whoa! Easy! I'm not a vampire!"

John let out an exasperated sigh and crossed his arms. "Well, what are you then? A werewolf? A fairy? A leprechaun?"

Pip smirked. "Well, first of all, I'm French, so I can't be a leprechaun. I'm a ghost. Seras's ghost, to be exact." The man- _ghost_ \- scratched awkwardly at the side of his face. "It's actually a funny story…"

"I'm sure it is," John said quickly, grabbing his cup of water off the counter and making towards the exit. "And I'd love to hear it. Later. When I'm sufficiently drunk."

"What, you believe Dracula and vampires exist but not ghosts? Your logic doesn't exactly make sense, monsieur."

"I don't care, _monsieur_."

And with that, John walked right out the door.

And into Sherlock Holmes.

"Gah! Bloody hell!"

His friend's dark brows shot up his forehead. "Good evening to you too, John."

John glared up at him. "What are you doing, skulking around at this late hour? Doesn't anyone or anything around here sleep?"

"Any _thing_ …?"

It was at this time that John deemed it needless to tell his friends that he was just having a conversation with a wall with a French accent, like something out of that one Disney movie with the talking teacup. "Forget it. Sherlock, I don't like this. I don't like this one bit. This place gives me the creeps, the people here give me the creeps, this _case_ gives me the creeps! There are two, _two_ monsters up and probably prowling about right beneath our sleeping quarters."

"No there aren't, there's one hiding right over there."

As his friend pointed towards a particularly dark corner of the hallway, John's face deadened. As the two watched, a large part of the shadow slithered away from its hiding place and took human form in front of them- though thankfully, it wasn't the tall, lanky form that John had been expecting. Rather, it was the short, buxom figure of Seras Victoria standing in their path, with a rather sheepish look on her face.

"Sorry, I… I didn't want to frighten you, but I wanted to investigate the noise. You gents are awfully loud, and that's sort of unusual for this time of night."

Sherlock sniffed. "Mm, no, you wanted to spy. I know my friend is a bit of an idiot, but you can at least spare _me_ the theatrics."

Before John had the chance to rebuke him (or smack him), Seras vigorously waved her hands. "Oh, no, no! No, really, I'm telling the truth. I just… I know neither of you like vampires (and considering my master, I can imagine why), so I, uh…" Under their scrutiny, she looked ashamedly off to the side, rubbing at her left arm. "Okay, yeah, I did. But there is still a little truth in what I was just saying! I checked out John's blog and your cases are just so neat, especially _The Empty Hearse_! And the way you go about deducing everything about people-!"

"Yes, yes, thank you, vampire," Sherlock said, waving her off. "Would you mind directing me to the basement? The other one's hiding down there, is he not?"

Seras's smile instantly evaporated, though to her credit she only looked a little peeved. "You know, for someone who spends so much time deducing people you'd think you would have figured out how to be nice."

"Tedious. Where is he?"

"Down the hall, make a left, and there's a mirror on the right side of the hallway. Push it aside and go down. But I can't suggest strongly enough that you not do that."

But Sherlock was already halfway down the hall. John made to move after him, but a strong grip held him in place. "Sherlock!"

"He'll be alright," Seras assured him. "He won't be harmed."

John glared at her. "But you just said he shouldn't go."

"And he shouldn't! My master loves scaring the wits out of anyone stupid enough to go into his chambers unannounced. But really, he's harmless."

"He eats people."

Seras winced. "Ah… does it help if I say, "only bad people"?" When John looked down at the bicep she was currently constricting like a viper, she let him go and held her hands up in defeat. "Look, John… You can trust me, okay? I know I'm not human, but I'm on your side, and probably the most normal person in this whole bloody place, aside from you. I've been in your shoes."

John cast a glance back to the hall, only to find it had been swiftly vacated. After considering going after his friend, and deciding that he would rather not face the monster in the basement, he let out a heavy sigh. "I just wanted some water, and the walls started talking to me. I wouldn't exactly call myself normal."

Seras offered him a sympathetic smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I accidentally flashed my master within the first few seconds of being here. So, you're having a better first experience here than I did."

 _She definitely has me beat, that's for certain. Poor girl._ "I'm sorry my friend was so rude to you."

"I'm sorry my master scared you." Seras gestured to the cup of water in his hand. "Would you like anything stronger to drink?"

 _I've made up my mind. I definitely like her._ "Would you be able to drink anything other than blood?"

Seras gave him a toothy grin. Somehow, John actually thought the fangs made her look sort of cute.

Maybe Sherlock was right. Maybe he _did_ have a thing for the dangerous ones.

*.*.*

For a vampire, Alucard definitely seemed quite… well, dead.

Sleep was a sort of temporary death, Sherlock supposed. Vampires had no need to breathe, nor shift at all, as they were not technically "alive"; really, one could argue that the vampire sitting in the throne with his cheek in his palm and eyes shut _was_ dead. But regardless of whether one could define a vampire's slumber as death or not, it was startling to see the pale man so at peace. It almost felt like a crime to snoop about his quarters, but then Sherlock never did care about such trivialities as "respect". He had answers he needed to acquire.

Sherlock had never paid rapt attention during many of his classes during his formative years. He could not understand why people became so immersed in the mundane; the human brain automatically encoded information without deliberate effort, so why waste space on remembering the structure of the solar system if you spent your life solving murder cases?

If he had known that vampires, sentient creatures that were effectively immortal or as close to immortality as possible existed, he might have paid more attention in history class. Especially now that he began to look a little more closely at the throne upon which Alucard reposed. Hadn't he seen it somewhere? An old painting, perhaps?

And then he spotted it: a long, sleek obsidian box set in the corner of the room with the lid half-cracked. Sherlock's eyebrow arched. _So some of the legends about vampires_ are _true, after all._

Somehow, the coffin was in mint condition. There were no visible scratches or scrapes to be seen, not even near the base of it, where it might have slid around on the floor or been tossed.

Engraved upon the lid, in elegant, slanted writing, were the words:

 _The Bird of Hermes is my name,_

 _Eating my wings to make me tame._

 _Perhaps_ , thought Sherlock, _I should have paid more attention in Literature as well._

Overall, the coffin was remarkable, and it was the only other thing (aside from the throne, but he was not _that_ suicidal) of interest in the room, as far as he could tell. And he had been searching, quite thoroughly. As someone who had some experience hiding things in his living quarters he would rather others would not find, he knew to look for an out-of-place stone or curious brick that might be concealing something interesting. The coffin, he assumed, would be his best bet.

Slowly, tentatively, he extended a hand to brush along the edge of the lid.

" _Back away from the coffin_ ," a low voice commanded from behind him.

Like any person possessing a modicum of reason, Sherlock obeyed, quickly withdrawing his hand and spinning around to face the vampire he had just pissed off. "Touchy about your property?"

Alucard gave the detective a deep scowl and stepped slowly towards the coffin, kneeling by it and appraising it carefully. "If you had so much as scuffed it, I would have killed you, Sherlock Holmes. My master's order of protection does not extend to you if you damage it."

Sherlock was not deterred. "Why is that? What if I had damaged your chair or your little table or your glass of blood? By the way, may I suggest investing in more furniture? It seems a little drab in here."

Alucard cast a look over his shoulder, far less irritable now that his precious deathbed was safe. "The coffin is an extension of myself. Killing you would have been out of self-defense. I'm not bound to a chair or a table or a cup."

"Just your bed."

"It's _much_ more than that," Alucard replied, a lazy grin stretching over his face. "I almost wish you had, you know. I'd _love_ to get a chance to taste your blood and get a peek inside that head of yours. Say, as compensation for coming into my room uninvited, would you offer that as repayment?"

"I'll keep my blood inside my body, thank you." Sherlock paced around the room a bit, eyeing the cold gray slabs of stone with impertinence. "Not very materialistic, are you?"

Alucard watched him, wondering at this human's audacity. This was one of the rare, rare few who knew what he was, and yet remained unafraid. Or, at the very least, did not behave that way. He wondered if it was pure recklessness that caused this, or Integra's assurance that he would not be harmed.

"Why would I be? Knick-knacks are pointless, especially for a slave."

"No relics from your human life, aside from the chair? Or have you always been as you are?"

He smiled. "I was a man once." Then, the smile disappeared. "There are relics, I presume. Likely in some museum or buried beneath the rubble of times long past."

Sherlock paused his appraisal, glancing at Alucard out of the corner of his eyes. "History books say you died in battle, your body cut to pieces and your decapitated head sent to the sultan of the Ottoman Empire."

"Another book says that I was killed by a stake through the heart and then promptly turned to dust. Neither are completely right." Alucard rose from his crouched position and slowly began to draw nearer. His eyes glowed sharply beneath the fringe of his dark hair. "I was marched down a line of enemy soldiers, my own men corpses at my feet. They pushed me to the ground, a man raised an axe above his head, then sliced off mine."

It took every ounce of self-control Sherlock had to refrain from flinching when Alucard loomed over him, close enough that he could see the teeth in the vampire's mouth sharpening as he spoke. "But surely you didn't dare risk come down here just to ask me to ruminate upon my past."

"No," Sherlock said, but paused. "Well, actually… yes. Now that you mention it, that's precisely what I'm here about. I need to know about one of the missions you worked in the year 1989."

The vampire blinked several times, then openly stared at Sherlock for several moments thence. "Oh," he said, slowly. "You're being serious. Are you well, detective? Has the knowledge of the existence of vampires driven you mad already?"

"I am _quite_ sane, _thank you_ ," Sherlock seethed. "Just answer me already. Unless you've grown senile and lost your memory?"

Rather than appear affronted by such a flagrant insult, Alucard looked amazed. "Your insolence is going to get you killed someday, mark my words. If I were younger I would have ground you into a fine red paste for that. Perhaps if I had my will, I still would." He shook his head. "Besides. What makes you so certain I'll remember anything so specific? I have lived for quite a long time. Years bleed into one another."

"You'll remember," Sherlock said, with the confidence of a man about to call check-mate. "It was the year Integra took possession of the Hellsing organization. She said she was twelve years old- something tells me those first few cases that she handled would have been noteworthy."

The corner of Alucard's lips twitched, though he did not try to dispute this point. He backed away, hands clasped neatly behind his back as he walked about the room. "I have no idea what relevance this would have on the present, but very well; I'll indulge you."

"In Nottingham, there was a woman who had been drained entirely of blood, and a man- now, as I know, a vampire- who had been taken to prison after the police came upon the scene. Come the day of his trial, however, he was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared from his cell in the middle of the night. His cell mate claimed he had simply vanished in a cloud of mist. The media so lovingly titled him, ' _The Transient Transylvanian_ '."

Alucard paused. A large, toothy grin had spread over his face. "Ha! You're in luck, I remember that case distinctly; that was Integra's _first_ mission! Impeccable choice!" He raised a hand and made a shrugging gesture. "Of course, I don't see _why_ I have to tell you anything, if you don't make it worth my while."

"Oh, for the love of…" Sherlock heaved an angry sigh. "What? What? What do you want?"

"Moriarty. What do you know of him?"

"He's a consulting criminal. He has a network. He's still out there."

"And?"

"And… he's a psychopath. I have nothing else."

" _Nothing_?" Alucard sneered. "You're a pathetic waste of time if you truly have so little evidence on what you deem your worst enemy."

"Perhaps that is _why_ he's my worst enemy."

"That does not change my point," Alucard said, beginning a slow circle around the detective. "Think. You're good at that, aren't you? Every spider has a web. People in positions of power always have networks. Connections. How did you meet? Or, I should say: how did he introduce himself to you?"

"Through…" Sherlock thought back. "Through Molly. He was her boyfriend, or at least pretending to be."

"Oh, is that how he said hello?" The room had grown just a bit colder. "You didn't know your enemy until he reached out to shake your hand? How might he have known to use Molly, of all people? Little, unassuming, unimportant Molly? He was _watching_ you, Sherlock Holmes. Hiding in the dark, until, perhaps out of frustration, he decided he needed your attention. How did you learn his name?"

"Through…" Sherlock paused, eyelids lowering. "You read the blog."

"I was waiting around for everyone to get here for a few hours. In the meantime, I thought I'd give it a read. But back to the subject, even the taxi driver was an attention grab." Alucard cocked his head. "It seems 1989 is a year of firsts for many of you humans. Integra taking her father's place. The first time you found out the truth about one of Moriarty's murders. I'd say he's been keeping an eye on you ever since then."

"But I already knew that!" Sherlock hissed. "How does this help me dismantle his web?"

"Tell me. Who is the most powerful person you've known since childhood?"

Sherlock stilled.

"Your brother," Alucard murmured, "trades in secrets. If you want to start getting a better understanding of your enemy, start looking at the things he's looking at."

"And the vampire, from thirty years ago?" Sherlock asked, more out of curiosity now that his suspicion that Mycroft had been hiding vampires from him for a long, long time was finally confirmed.

Alucard chuckled. "Well, it _was_ the first time Integra had ordered me to kill for her. I made sure to make an example out of him."

 **Hello, and welcome back! This chapter was fucking excruciating for me to write because I kept going back and editing, so for the love of God I hope it turned out okay! I had thought to maybe extend it a little more, but when I saw I had reached over 4,000 words I was like, 'welp, maybe work on plot progression now, rather than stay in the relationship developing rabbit-hole'. And so, here I am! Thank you all for your patience.**

 **Also, thank you everyone for your reviews! Quite a few of you mentioned your personal head cannons regarding a vampire's internal heat, ranging from an unnatural cold to the idea that a vampire is only warm after feeding on fresh blood. I may wind up going back and editing that just for the sake of making more sense as far as what Vampire RulesTM this story follows, so thank you for that input.**

 **I really, really enjoy writing Sherlock and Alucard interacting, okay? For me, I just like all the ways Alucard shifts behaviorally around the detective. Sometimes he'll see Sherlock as an intellectual equal, sometimes he'll be just another foolish human, sometimes he'll be a friend or food, and sometimes he'll be like an apprentice of sorts that Alucard is trying to guide in the right direction, because he's seen so many brilliant minds go to waste over the years. Sherlock is like the brain to Anderson's brawn (rivalry-wise), only he has to try and not treat Sherlock like competition, since they're on the same side and Integra forbids it. He's still sort of grappling with how he should be treating the two detectives, as you might have picked up.**

 **He'll find out soon enough. ;)**

 **Excuse my ramblings. I've been fighting a nasty (cold? Flu? Who the fuck knows, I'm too poor to see a doctor) and I'm probably only half-coherent through all the NyQuil. Have an amazing rest of the week! Thank you so much for your reviews/favorites/follows/etc! Love you all!**


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